


Impetuous

by evilmouse



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Boss/Employee Relationship, F/M, Imperial AU, Imperial Culture, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Trust, Military, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Prince Luke Skywalker, Sexual Slavery, Threesome - F/M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Voyeurism, thryce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 07:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21267005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse/pseuds/evilmouse
Summary: Grand Admiral Thrawn has discovered the benefits of gifted pleasure companions, but his personal attachée, Arihnda Pryce, is finding it a difficult situation to accept.A Proprietary Indulgences remix/sequel.





	Impetuous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celinamarniss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celinamarniss/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Proprietary Indulgences](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20757896) by [celinamarniss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celinamarniss/pseuds/celinamarniss). 

> I believe fandom as a whole is grateful to [celinamarniss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celinamarniss/pseuds/celinamarniss) for building this amazing sandbox to play in, but I especially owe additional thanks for the encouraging beta and the blessing of this fic she made possible. If you haven't read the inspiration for this story, it is strongly recommended. It is responsible for the world we're in and the characterization/motivations of our principals.
> 
> I am also super indebted to [JediMordsith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediMordsith/pseuds/JediMordsith) who cheered me on with an early read-through, got me to the finish line with my edits, and generously donated a phrase or two!

Skywalker stood in the doorway.

Arihnda stared stupidly at the man blocking her from the rest of the room, a vicious punch to her gut stealing words from her lips just as surely as thoughts fled her head.

Skywalker. Here. In the Grand Admiral’s quarters.

She was an idiot.

“Hi,” the Prince said, friendly enough, but not trying to hide his own surprise at her presence.

His sandy hair was mussed like she’d interrupted something. His face—his face was perfect. So fucking perfect. She wanted to punch him, claw his beautiful eyes out. No wonder Thrawn had been gliding more than walking through the corridors lately. He fucked _this_ whenever he wanted. Maybe she _was_ interrupting, right at this instant. 

The thought jerked her back to the present. 

Skywalker’s gorgeous eyes, that pure and pristine blue, dimmed slightly as she took him in. He was shirtless—of course—and his physique was also flawless. The lean muscles of his torso looked carefully molded to his frame, artistically proportioned so as not to bulge in any unseemly way. Everything about him screamed strength and health and sexual invitation.

Sex.

Arihnda bit her lip. She had to recover. This had been a mistake. What had she been thinking, running to Thrawn’s personal quarters in the middle of the afternoon?

Skywalker seemed to mirror her hesitation, his own lips thinning. She couldn’t tell if it was a smug smirk or a repressed smile, but either way, Arihnda was certain it was at her expense. 

“Something I can do for you, Ms. Pryce?”

The tone was completely pleasant, unremarkable.

What the fuck kind of question was that? Why were his collarbones so mesmerizing? Where was Thrawn?

In an attempt to settle her nerves and calm her pounding heart, Arihnda took a step back from the threshold—the start of a retreat.

The distance was enough to clarify her error.

She’d rang at Skywalker’s annunciator. Not the Grand Admiral’s. Wrong fucking door, in her agitated state.

Shavit.

“I’m sorry,” Arihnda stammered, wincing in frustration. “I didn’t mean to disturb you…” She waved a graceless hand to indicate the neighboring suite.

Those blue eyes widened slightly in understanding, and then there was a smile. Not a smile for her, she was positive. A brilliant, beaming smile tailor-made to mock her. She’d made a stupid mistake, gone to the wrong door as if she were drunk or hopped up on spice, and this spoiled, handsome prince was never going to let her live it down.

“No problem,” he said, contradicting her anticipated reaction. “But I don’t think he’s around at the moment.” Then it was Skywalker who took a step back, offering her entry. 

What the hell was he thinking? 

“Do you want to come in?” A small pause. “You seem…”

He trailed off and Arihnda was once again seized with the urge to strike him, rake her nails in bloody lines down that golden chest. He was so relaxed, so content and at ease in his half-dressed state. Skywalker looked exactly like what he was: a pleasure slave lounging around the harem.

Maybe she was giving off murderous vibes, because Skywalker’s expression changed, darkened briefly. He didn’t rescind his invitation though, chin indicating the interior.

“Come on.”

She shook her head vigorously, the blood in her veins now throbbing audibly in her ears. 

“I can tell something’s wrong.” 

Skywalker’s voice was warm and gentle, too knowing, and it incensed her. 

How could he tell? Was she so transparent? Arihnda set her jaw, stood up straighter. She wouldn’t confide in this stranger. What could she say? He was part of the problem, really.

The idea made her feel even more foolish. She’d been an imbecile to race to the officer’s deck in the first place. What sort of complaint could she lodge? 

_“Lady Jade doesn’t respect my position, sir.”_  
_“Your fuck slave is a bitch, Grand Admiral.” _

The first few weeks, Arihnda had managed to overlook it. It had been survivable, ignorable. 

Jade had roamed the ship like a wraith, Skywalker too. They had drifted without purpose through the levels, moving only where allowed. Arihnda had been pleased to learn their access was restricted, and periodically checked security cams to make certain they hadn’t used their sexual charms to entice any horny guards to relax the rules. It was part of her duties, she had rationalized, looking out for every aspect of the Grand Admiral’s professional and personal comfort.

It had made the haughty looks and disdainful glances from Lady Jade, the few times they passed in a corridor, almost laughable. The high and mighty woman had been turned into a decorative pet, and served no purpose. Arihnda had been certain of that. The initial misery that had descended upon the news of the Emperor’s “gifts” had been tempered with the knowledge that the pair were as in demand as a sand vendor on Tatooine. Her superior was far above such base indulgences. The fact that he—involuntarily—possessed pleasure slaves was nothing more than an inconvenient sign of his status and the Empire’s esteem.

The Grand Admiral didn’t need them. He definitely didn’t want them. Of that Arihnda had also been certain. 

Shortly after they were gifted, in fact, Thrawn had, in confidence, asked her for a briefing regarding gift protocol. Was there the expectation of contract, or a time limitation to their service? Were such gifts ever returned? Could he eventually transfer them, “regift” to another deserving officer? How did such companions’ rights differ from those of laboring slaves? All his questions had encouraged her, proved her initial assessment to be correct: Thrawn had no use for the trinkets of the Imperial Court. He saw their charms for the superficial pleasure and likely entrapment they promised, and Arihnda no longer concerned herself with jealousy.

Then something had changed.

First, she noticed minute shifts in the Grand Admiral’s behavior. Arihnda had served by his side for multiple tours. She was attuned to him, and of course paid close attention to his moods, his needs. It was part of her job as his personal attachée, but also was her privilege. 

She admired him. It was acceptable, she told herself, to feel this way for someone so obviously worthy of admiration. 

The Grand Admiral was a genius—his strategies, insights, and expertise unmatched in the Imperial Fleet. So what if she also had a crush? No one needed to know, and it only made her work more rewarding. Despite her secret desires, Arihnda was smart enough to understand that the Grand Admiral was not the type to “shit where he ate,” as the vulgarism went. Her feelings would remain unrequited, and that too she accepted.

She convinced herself it was a sign of his respect, that he never made advances, never took liberties with her time and attention. He _was_ warmer, kinder to her than most of his subordinates, and for that she was grateful. 

He trusted her with more than his knowledge—Thrawn trusted her with his ignorance. It was Arihnda who counselled him on political matters, Arihnda who taught him the nuances of military bureaucracy, and Arihnda that he came to for every random question—operational, personal, strategic and incidental, she could answer them all.

Only in her fantasies did she expect Thrawn to succumb to his own desires, confess his long-repressed adoration, and take her into his arms and his bed. 

Then one morning, he’d been distracted on the bridge. Just for a moment, but she noticed. Almost like Thrawn had been daydreaming, his attention clearly not on the stand-up briefing his deputy navigator was delivering.

Arihnda had tried to dismiss it, but soon there were other signs. He started to finish his workday earlier. Not consistently, but not infrequently either. He didn’t require after-hours assistance as often. His interest in her suggested external activities seemed more perfunctory than genuine.

Arihnda hadn’t been certain of the cause, blinded by willful naiveté, but her denial was shattered the next time she saw Skywalker and Jade on the security cam. 

They smiled. They chatted. They held themselves differently, with less self-consciousness and more poise. They were almost…happy.

It reminded her of how Thrawn seemed lately.

The painful truth had winded her with the force of an asteroid. 

Her exalted Grand Admiral was no better than any other man. It wasn’t that he was too noble or busy for romance, he just would rather fuck two total strangers than his longtime, devoted colleague. It didn’t matter how logically Arihnda knew it could all be meaningless—it still hurt with unreasonable, irrational, and perverse precision.

Fuck him. It was cruel. 

It was heartbreaking.

Arihnda had taken sick in her cabin. She debated quitting, asking for a transfer, confessing her love, killing herself. Each idea was more dramatic and ridiculous than the last. Thrawn really didn’t give a shit about her, after all this time. 

He hadn’t even deigned to mention anything about his new fucktoys. Why shouldn’t his personal attachée know about his sex life? Arihnda could have briefed them on his eccentric habits, told them what he liked to eat, drink, his interest in the arts, the subtle signs that he was tired, the dangers of his impatience. 

Nothing. 

Her involvement, and her opinion, were unnecessary. Unwanted. Her lengthy and hard-won knowledge of him dismissed without being considered, worse than useless.

On the third day of her pathetic retreat from the world, the Grand Admiral had personally come to her quarters. The concern his visit represented had been a balm for her ego, although he hadn’t come alone. 

The chief medical officer was with him. But it was Thrawn who assured her to take as much time as required, Thrawn who told her he wished for her to get better, promised her the best care. And told her to come to him whatever she needed.

Whatever she needed.

Then he’d left, with a gentle touch to her shoulder, and Arihnda thought she would burst into tears of relief. He cared.

The presence of the doctor prevented her tears. He informed her, unsurprisingly, that she was medically sound and mildly undernourished. He suggested more balanced rations with more caf, not less, and casually offered to make her an appointment with the psychcenter.

Arihnda’s glare had shut him up.

The next morning she was back at Thrawn’s side as if her childish breakdown had never happened.

Skywalker was still waiting. Coughing to cover her delay and the silence, Arihnda narrowed her eyes.

“So you’re alone?”

He nodded, and without understanding why, she stepped inside the cabin, the door sliding shut with a soft click behind her.

Skywalker’s suite was sterile, like most of the rooms on the ship. She didn’t know what she had expected. A datapad was resting on a low table. There were no other visible personal effects. Off the main entryway, she could see through to his sleeping quarters. The bed was neatly made, thank the stars. The inference, that Skywalker didn’t spend much time in his room, did not make her feel better.

She had checked the manifest to see the assignments the day they’d arrived. At the time, Arihnda had decided Thrawn was using Skywalker as a buffer between his room and Lady Jade, a sure sign of his disinterest in both of them, as well as a signal to curious gossips that he was above such carnal urges. 

But now, seeing the Naboo prince like this made her question that reasoning. Skywalker was objectively handsome. Perhaps Thrawn preferred men. 

The idea pierced as surely as a stab to the heart, but dulled quickly. If Thrawn preferred men, it was no reflection of her own appeal. It made more sense that the Grand Admiral had never acknowledged her romantically. He’d never even asked if she had a date or a partner in casual conversation. Of course, he also never had indicated an interest in romantic trysts of his own. And since she was privy to his schedule, even his private meetings, she had always assumed Thrawn was above such dalliances.

This would explain a great deal.

She sighed unthinkingly, more relaxed than she had been outside. It was bizarre as well as inadvisable, given the situation. She should leave. She _would_ leave. It had been a mistake coming into Skywalker’s room; she had no right to be here and it was her own inattention in the first place that created this mess.

“Drink?”

He was holding out a glass, full of something sparkling and purple. It looked good, and she accepted, taking an unladylike gulp. Meiloorun juice, but the rare kind. Arihnda arched an eyebrow at the implication. Thrawn’s slaves had access to some exceptional rations, if Skywalker was drinking this everyday.

The liquid coated her throat, sweet and stabilizing. She started to feel herself again. 

It was wrong to hate Skywalker. He hadn’t displayed the arrogance or snobbery of Lady Jade, even though his position was technically higher than that woman’s. Skywalker was distant, which was acceptable, but with the appropriate level of acknowledgement and respect. 

A pang of guilt lanced through her at the memory of her earlier reaction. It wasn’t Skywalker’s fault he was a pleasure slave, gifted to the man she also served. He’d actually never been anything but nice to her, never forgot that her title was Personal Attachée, like Jade pretended every time they crossed paths.

Jade. Their most recent encounter was the reason for her presence here. 

Not more than an hour earlier, in the gym, she had been going through her routine. The younger woman had suggested she needed to work on her form, implied her physique was inferior, and then, when Arihnda had ignored her jibes: “Of course, personal attachée is just a title…”

It was sufficient to get under her skin. Initially she’d attempted to dismiss it, but after some consideration, Arihnda became convinced the bitch needed discipline—to be taught a lesson. Even if Thrawn _was_ fucking her, surely he wouldn’t put up with such blatant disrespect to one of his staff. Arihnda was “invaluable” to him, he’d said on more than one occasion. And he’d offered to assist her in _any_ way possible… Arihnda doubted he’d made a similar offer to that red-headed slut.

The memory got her riled up again, and Arihnda quickly swallowed the rest of the juice, setting the glass on a small table next to the door.

“Thank you for the drink, Prince Skywalker,” she spoke through gritted teeth. “Again, my apologies for the mistake.”

“You can call me Luke,” he offered, ignoring her obvious intent to leave. “And I’m sorry.”

The words grated. How dare he make assumptions regarding anything? Just because she was foolish to have come here in the first place didn’t mean he had any right to judge, offer consolation, pity her.

Skywalker winced as if she’d struck him, and an unpleasant sneer touched her lips. Whatever he’d seen in her face, at least it was strong enough to convey her displeasure. So what if he wasn’t to blame for what had happened? He was still part of it, and if Thrawn decided to punish Jade for her insolence—as Arihnda was certain he would—it would hopefully remove any perception of weakness that she’d invited by showing up at Skywalker’s door.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Arihnda said, taking the two steps back towards the exit.

“It’s Mara, isn’t it?”

That stopped her. Eyes narrowing, Arihnda turned. It was impossible to avoid that bare chest, his ridiculous good looks. Being born a prince should be enough to satisfy fate, but to be attractive like this—it was more proof that there was no justice in the galaxy. She opened her mouth to deliver some nasty retort, but Skywalker continued.

“She’s…not that bad once you get to know her.”

“I assure you,” she seethed, “I have no interest in getting to know Lady Jade.” Arihnda scowled, her face contorted and drawn. “Or you.”

“Why not?” Skywalker leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. The result was a rather too nice view of his biceps as they pressed against his sides. Not to mention his collarbones. How could anyone have beautiful collarbones, Arihnda marveled, wanting to beat her head against the wall.

“Because,” she began, automatically responding without knowing her answer. “…You have nothing to do with me. You’re only here because the Emperor _put_ you here.”

“Or because Thrawn wants us here?” Skywalker asked innocently. 

It was quite enough that he’d just referred to her boss without title, underscoring just how informal his relationship was, how intimate his knowledge. It was more than enough that he had to sound so damn relaxed in the face of her obvious irritation. But it was too much to stand how he was _looking_ at her, pretending he had no idea how devastating those words were to hear, how each second she thought about Thrawn in his bed was excruciating, emphasizing just how she fell short in the Grand Admiral’s esteem.

Her eyes glanced to that bed, that smoothly made and deceptively unused bed, and suddenly a different epiphany struck. Skywalker’s bed was made because they fucked in Thrawn’s quarters, not his own. Of course. She pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath.

So what if she was an impeccable aide, making certain that everything in Thrawn’s orbit was well-timed, well-ordered, and well-executed? So what if she devoted every waking second to furthering his career and seeing to his needs? He evidently preferred a snobbish, wanton courtier and a starry-eyed pretty-faced prince. 

“I’m sorry…” Skywalker said again. He sounded genuinely upset. 

Aghast at knowing she must have betrayed her unhappiness on her face, Arihnda struggled for control, digging into the wellspring of professional indignation that she used to intimidate and discipline subordinates.

“Stop apologizing,” she snarled. “You have no cause to feel sorry for me.” She took a threatening step towards him, one finger raised in warning. “Don’t think for a moment that I couldn’t have you and your girlfriend removed from this ship.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Skywalker said, then seemed almost surprised at his own admission. “I don’t really know what we are…”

“You’re slaves.”

He shrugged, looking unconcerned with the epithet. 

“From a certain point of view.”

His nonchalance further annoyed her. How could he be so calm about it?

“From _everyone’s_ point of view,” she retorted, scanning him up and down meaningfully to emphasize the words.

Silence at that. 

It dragged on rather too long, and Arihnda found the entire situation even more ill-advised than before. Skywalker was still half-naked, his eyes open and curious instead of angry. Her words hadn’t stung as intended, hadn’t erased that warmth from his gaze. 

She didn’t understand him at all.

“Stop it.” She broke the wordless détente. The imperative made no sense, but felt necessary. He wasn’t really _doing_ anything, other than looking at her, but Arihnda felt examined, exposed, and vulnerable, and that was completely wrong. Not when _he_ was the callow plaything without a shirt.

Uncrossing his arms, Skywalker closed the short distance between them.

“Stop,” she said again, barely above a whisper this time.

“It’s all right,” he replied quietly, one hand reaching out and pushing a strand of her short hair behind her ear. Arihnda shivered, feeling the graze of his finger like a frost that chilled and frightened.

“It’s _not_ all right,” she disagreed. She hadn’t meant it like a confession, but it was nonetheless, enough to undo her. Her admission encapsulated everything that was wrong, everything that had been ruined since the evening of the Triumph. Arihnda’s breath hitched in her throat, her lungs collapsed and tight. Her eyes were itchy and stinging.

Skywalker was so close, close enough to feel the warmth from his skin, the soft heat of his exhalation on her face. He was short…she hadn’t really noticed before, because he was so well-proportioned. But here…

“Kiss me,” she said, the words shaky but clear.

He wouldn’t, of course. Her order was petty—merely to make a point of command, to counter her own vulnerability, to demonstrate her power and station were now superior to his…

Arihnda expected a protest, for Skywalker to balk, be insulted, or threaten to tell his Master. She knew he wouldn’t _want_ to kiss her. She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense, and certainly couldn’t compete with Mara Jade. Pretty was the best she could ever hope for, and attractive was often the best she was granted. 

Yet Skywalker’s mouth was suddenly against hers, soft in texture, firm in pressure. Her eyes widened in shock, then closed tightly as one strong hand slipped behind her head, the other wrapping around her waist and pulling her smoothly against the line of him.

The prince was an excellent kisser…but her brain wasn’t functioning enough to even acknowledge that fact. His tongue was deftly parting her lips, no reluctance or hesitation—only an invitation to open, yield, surrender.

Arihnda’s fingers smoothed across his tan skin, her forearm settling behind his neck as the kiss deepened. Sensation consumed thought, and she struggled vainly for focus. 

This wasn’t why she came. 

Why had she come?

Skywalker’s lips left hers just long enough to mark a path to her collar, tugging it open with his teeth. They returned to her mouth, more urgent. She moaned into the kiss as her tunic was pushed from her shoulders. Feeling his heartbeat drum against her chest, Arihnda blinked like in a dream. 

“You…you…” she tried to process through the bliss of his tongue along her jawline.

“_Luke,_” he corrected, walking them through the doorway to the bedroom.

His name did what her brain hadn’t been able to accomplish, yanking her back to reality. Arihnda’s whole body turned rigid with shame and dread. It had almost been too late.

She pushed Luke away, fumbling to secure her tunic’s fasteners. She’d _commanded_ him—he was a pleasure slave, what in the Stalbringion Hells had she expected him to do? He _couldn’t_ say no, it wasn’t in the terms of his indenture. She’d read the formal paperwork, memorizing its sterile language detailing “adequate board” for the companions, “minimum personal leave,” and the section that she read twice “disciplinary limitations.” Short of execution, which required permission from the Court, there were none.

A sick feeling settled in her stomach. She was no better than Thrawn, using a man who couldn’t reasonably reject her.

Luke watched her, but none of the confusion, disgust, or nervousness Arihnda expected on his face. She needed to escape those amazing eyes.

“Forget it,” she snapped. “I didn’t mean—”

“Can I call you Arihnda?” he interrupted again. A flare of irritation met the request.

“No, you may not.” 

Already he was back in front of her, confident hands grasping hers, stopping her from fixing the final fasteners on her tunic.

“I understand.”

The words fell with a thud on her ears. He wasn’t talking about her name. But…

Looking down at the clasp of his hands, the long, straight length of his fingers, Arihnda tried to focus. But all she could see were the unevenness of his knuckles, the whorls decorating them.

His fingers were just as attractive as the rest of him, muscled, the visible cords of veins somehow conveying strength. His nails were short but not too short, rounded just up to the calloused tips. Shit. She wasn’t thinking at all.

Arihnda raised her eyes to Skywalker’s face, meeting his even gaze. His expression and face were open, lips parted slightly. He was waiting, but there was expectation there. 

“You don’t have to,” she muttered, eyes returning to their joined hands. She was angry at herself for screwing this up so badly, for calling his bluff and losing. How was she supposed to know he’d actually do it? “I didn’t mean it.”

Her only hope was he wouldn’t tell Thrawn. She couldn’t imagine the consequences of attempting to commandeer his pleasure slave for herself, even if that hadn’t been her intention. It would look that way to anyway who investigated.

Luke kissed her again in response, as if his lips could erase her doubts. His hands still held hers. He circled them to rest at the small of her back, maneuvering her again towards the bed as her body reflexively arched into his. 

The shift in position did more to reassure her than his kiss, as the hard press of his erection pushed against her hip. He did want her, on some level. Arihnda pulled her hands from where he held them behind her, sliding down the waistband of his loosely hanging pants. The angles of his hips were as sexy as the rest of him, the ridged muscles flowing like a guide to his cock, stiff and ready for her touch.

Luke pressed into her hand, as her other ran across the taut muscle of his ass. She wanted him, although she hadn’t realized it before. He was so fucking magnificent, of course she wasn’t immune.

As her fingers wrapped around his thick cock, Arihnda wondered at its history. Unhelpful thoughts, coming with the worst timing possible. Did he fuck Thrawn with this? Or use it to serve Mara’s holes? 

Her hand at his ass squeezed, and Luke grunted as they collapsed in tandem onto the luxurious mattress.

The change from vertical to horizontal was welcome, scattering her mind further. Arihnda knew this was a bad idea. An awful idea. But that surety was buried in a haze of kisses, secured by the solid weight of a naked man whose sole objective seemed to be preventing her from thinking. His hands rapidly undressed her as his kisses countered any attempts to slow or withdraw. Not that she put up a fight—once her drenched panties were set aside, eagerness had effectively destroyed any remaining common sense. Together, they charged mindlessly towards the same precipice, heedless of consequence. 

When her boots were gone, when she lay completely nude beneath him, Luke paused from his oral attack long enough to study her face. He seemed satisfied at what he saw, lines softening around his eyes, a small curve at one side of his mouth. He was getting something he wanted, and Arihnda smiled despite herself. Everything about this was insane, but she no longer questioned his willing participation.

Her smile was all the assent Luke required. He kneed her thighs slightly wider and pushed inside, one slide of his hips taking her as deep as possible. Arihnda moaned, hands gripping his ass as he held to the position, feeling her adjust around him. His mouth fell to her throat, tongue tracing the line of her neck to her ear, teeth nipping at her lobe as she gasped.

His cock was just as maddeningly perfect as everything else, she cursed, hands gliding under his arms and pulling him back to her chest. She turned to capture his mouth, her tongue probing, craving the taste of him as Luke fucked her harder. Her fingernails scraped a trail from his ass to his shoulderblades. She flattened her palms, feeling the flex of muscle as he lifted and fell, a steady, powerful rhythm.

She was getting close, Arihnda realized, amazed. It had been a long time, but never so quickly, so effortlessly had she felt a pending orgasm like a promise, just over the horizon. If he kept this up, this force, this delicious friction against her—

Luke abruptly stopped his thrusts, muscles suddenly rigid. Surely he hadn’t come already? 

“Please, continue.”

A nightmare.

A voice in a nightmare. She was having a terrible dream and would now wake up. Any second now. Arihnda’s fingers tensed, digging into the skin beneath them. Luke flinched. His head lifted, blue eyes meeting hers, then glancing to the side.

Her heart hammering in her chest, no longer from desire, Arihnda followed his gaze. 

Grand Admiral Thrawn stood, uniformed, imposing, less than a meter from the bed. His face was impassive, but the red of his eyes boiled. 

He was furious. It wasn’t a look Arihnda had seen often, thankfully, but the two times she could remember, both offenders had been executed.

Both.

She opened her mouth, started to squirm to free herself from the cock pinning her to the bed. She had to apologize, beg his forgiveness. Thrawn _valued_ her. This wasn’t her fault—Luke had seduced her, she would tell him, drugged her, overpowered her, threatened her.

A slight shake of Thrawn’s head was as effective as a gag. He wasn’t interested in her excuses or lies. Arihnda swallowed, her body clenching reflexively around Luke, whose cock was still buried inside her. Her partner sucked in a breath from the squeeze.

“Continue.”

Luke didn’t know Thrawn’s looks as well as she did. He obviously miscalculated the danger they were in. She heard him exhale slowly, able to summon calm much easier than she could.

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo—”

“This is not a request, Luke.” Thrawn’s naturally slick tone was sharp, the words barbed and toxic.

“But we never discussed this. Maybe ask what _she_ wants?”

Arihnda was stunned that the prince had addressed Thawn by his full name, not to mention that he dared to argue with him. She was more terrified than before. 

A firm hand gripped under her shoulder, the other on Luke’s, rolling them over on the mattress like woklings tumbling down a hill. The result was she was now on top, still humiliatingly joined to Thrawn’s gifted consort.

“Arihnda’s compliance is not in question, Luke.” Thrawn’s voice turned mocking, ice wrapped in jagged steel. “Learn from her example.”

Her eyes stung, her breath caught. Now Thrawn had an unobstructed view of her ass, of Luke’s cock rooted in her cunt, and her naked body, sweaty and flushed with sex.

She felt weak and pathetic, traits her Grand Admiral did not tolerate. Arihnda twisted her head uncomfortably, making herself look at him as she pressed up on her hands. 

She had to be strong; only strength would convince him to let them stop. She had to leave, apologize. Surely he couldn’t expect her to actually fuck his slave in front of him? Arihnda never felt less aroused in her life, all passion replaced by self-loathing and the horrible sick certainty that she had forever ruined her career, her life, Thrawn’s opinion of her. The last was the most crippling of the three.

The worst part was she _deserved_ to be punished, she had no doubt. Luke _belonged_ to him. 

She hadn’t really given it much thought—hadn’t given anything much thought, Luke’s lips and hands had seen to that. But she had no right to what she’d taken, what he’d given her.

The searing burn of Thrawn’s eyes flickered slightly, but his features remained stone.

“Arihnda?”

“Yes, sir…”

She looked down at Luke, seeing understanding, pity, and anger in his eyes. He kissed her, hard, hands framing her face.

“Forget him,” he whispered against her lips, and started to thrust up. Her knees slipped on the bed from the movement. She wasn’t ready. 

Her hands clutched the sheet as she lunged for his lips, trying to disregard the blasphemy of Luke’s direction. How could she forget Thrawn? Thrawn was her mentor, her idol, her constant. 

Screwing her eyes shut, Arihnda welcomed the renewed crash of Luke’s hips against hers, the distraction of his hands that moved constantly, skimming rough and sweet against her hypersensitive skin. His cock stayed hard and unforgiving, pressing deep once more. She cried out as a violent slam drove her to the point of collapse against his chest.

She kissed him again, the action her primary defense against thought; her tongue was the best weapon for disconnecting from the awful truth of her situation. Luke’s arms anchored her, holding her close, and she almost relaxed against him. Maybe it _was_ actually a nightmare. This couldn’t be happening.

A cool caress on her lower back jolted her out of Luke’s embrace. Thrawn’s ungloved hand rested on her skin…firm and possessive. Panicked, no longer able to feign oblivion to his presence, Arihnda pushed reflexively backwards to escape, instead pressing hard into his touch.

Thrawn’s palm glided up along her spine, sending sparks dancing across her nerves. Arihnda shuddered atop Luke. His hands were full of her breasts, toying with her nipples as she twitched and writhed. Thrawn’s fingers threaded into her hair, then fisted, wrenching her neck, arching her back and away from the man beneath her. She moaned, fighting against a sensation that was indistinguishable as terror or lust.

“Continue.”

The order was whispered, sinking into her ear with the heat of a thousand suns. His fingers relaxed, hand sliding back down towards her ass, settling at the cleft.

“Please…” Arihnda begged, not knowing what she was asking for. Release, escape, forgiveness, or to be fucked harder, all twisted into the same needful ache in her core.

Luke’s hands left her breasts as he sat up, mouth teasing the nipples his fingers had just freed. Grateful, she ran her hands through his wavy hair, holding him to her chest as she rode him. The stretch of his cock no longer imparted pure pleasure, but something dangerous and forbidden. 

Thrawn’s hand stayed at her ass, fingers spreading her open, grazing down the crack. A wet finger pressed against the muscled ring of her asshole, a promise, a tease, a threat all mixed into one. 

She wanted him, she had always wanted him, but couldn’t have dreamed of this. Instead of bliss at his touch, she tensed, bit back a plea as Thrawn circled and pushed, first just dipping, then forcing his way deeper. She tried to open for him, but Luke’s cock made everything inside her feel compressed and hopelessly tight. 

Thrawn’s intrusion had started with deliberation, an inexorable progression. But his touch didn’t convey lust—it was too patient and methodical. It made sense to Arihnda, even as she groaned in unrelenting pleasure from his attentions. 

Thrawn was disappointed in her, disgusted. His finger fucking her this way, bored, detached, was proof of how far she had fallen in his esteem—how little he valued her now. 

Although her body responded to his violation, it felt cruel rather than participatory. Arihnda was destroyed by his wordless condemnation, so full of self-hatred and misery she missed the impulsive arrival of her orgasm. It claimed her for an awful, ecstatic moment as she trembled from her toes to her fingertips, then seized in Luke’s lap. He kissed her breastbone as she convulsed and collapsed over his torso.

Arihnda felt blinded, utterly wrecked in every sense. Panting for air, she gave up trying to move. 

Luke’s erection was still lodged inside her, but he made no move to seek his own release. His calloused hands grazed along her sides, conveying reassurance, comfort. It was the opposite of everything she knew she was supposed to feel. _Why did a prince have a laborer’s callouses?_ A futile curiosity through the daze of her orgasm’s aftermath.

“Leave us.”

The words brought a sudden lump to her throat. Despite not having recovered from the force of her climax, Arihnda opened her eyes. 

Thrawn despised her. Of course he did. They both probably did. She wiped at her eyes. Why bother to care anymore what they saw? Everything had already been seen. Everything had been taken from her. 

Luke had pulled out—although she didn’t know when, so insensible to her own surroundings, her body over-stimulated and weak.

Arihnda turned face up and struggled to sit. She had to comply with Thrawn’s order and go. 

Catching her eye, Luke shook a negative, a fleeting motion. He placed a quick peck on her cheek.

“It’ll be all right,” he promised, rolling nimbly over to the far side of the bed. She was afraid to watch his departure, hearing, not seeing, the soft slide of a door. 

Luke had disappeared, abandoned her to whatever fate Thrawn determined she merited.

Arihnda couldn’t pretend to be anything but devastated. She had to avoid Thrawn’s gaze, had to avoid even checking to see where he’d settled in the room. If she looked in his eyes, she would see her failings there, and she needed to be strong. The Grand Admiral was not charitable regarding disloyalty.

With effort, Arihnda pulled herself to a sitting position on the mattress. The smell of sex was strong in her nostrils, burning her lungs as she drew her knees to her chest and swallowed the groan that rose to her lips.

Arihnda couldn’t say anything. She stared instead at her bare shins, bony ankles, thin toes. She wouldn’t beg, wouldn’t ask, couldn’t adequately apologize. Nothing could make up for what she had done. Her service with Thrawn was ended, by the stupidest of all scandals. Fucking his pleasure slave without permission—acting like a slut who succumbed to the shallow pleasures she’d secretly denounced him for…

Skywalker, for all his talents and looks, wasn’t anything close to being worth what she’d lost. Nothing could ever be worth it.

The revelation was too much, and the tears she’d been battling decided now was a good time to leak out of her eyes.

Thrawn said nothing, although she was sure he was there—perhaps standing at the door, or seated on the functional sofa near the viewport. Arihnda sightlessly fumbled behind her for a pillow, brought it to her knees, and buried her head in it. That was better. The linen was cool, the pillow was soft, and it seemed to welcome her tears, rather than censure them. 

She hiccuped into her own despair, struggling to stay quiet. Frailty was reprehensible. She couldn’t surrender to this—she had to stave the flow.

The cool touch again…Thrawn’s hand was at her far bicep, long fingers curling around the muscle. His right arm brushed against her exposed back. Arihnda stiffened, fearful. His other hand pulled the pillow from her lap, soundlessly tossing it away. His left arm looped around her front, fingers lacing together at the far end of the circle of his embrace. Thrawn drew her balled-up form against him with neither gentleness nor force. He simply wrapped her, brought her close. 

He had taken off his uniform tunic—the thin, soft material of his undershirt against her cheek so different than the starch of Imperial weave. She tried to hear his heartbeat, and couldn’t discern it through the painful throb of blood pounding in her head.

Arihnda’s breath had already been shallow, but she threatened to hyperventilate in the Grand Admiral’s embrace. He’d never hugged her, never had any reason to hold her like this. 

She’d betrayed him, and betrayal was the worst possible offense. Members of the Whitescars syndicate would kiss the cheeks of their enemies before killing them. Perhaps this was his tradition or concession. Maybe the Chiss embraced those they were about to exile, explaining why Thrawn would hold her before firing her, or worse.

His pectoral muscles were hard against her side. Arihnda turned her head into him, inhaling his scent, the wintry spice that she knew so well. Usually she only could enjoy it when whispering guidance in his ear at an event, or delivering confidential information during a meeting. It was familiar but never had been so strong, so wonderfully undiluted.

Her nose bent against his sternum and Arihnda sighed. She would remember _this_, she promised herself, not that horror that led to it, nor the bad decisions that led to that. Maybe it was all worth it, to be held like this, even if it meant everything had ended and her service was no longer wanted.

She wouldn’t say anything, Arihnda decided, just stay here as long as he let her. Thrawn’s arms were tight, but the animosity, the displeasure of earlier, seemed to have dissipated. Yet his hug felt almost clinical, save for the inevitable closeness of it.

She rested there for what could have been seconds or minutes. Her breathing still left her lungs in ragged bursts, despite her willing it to become regular.

“What would you have me say, Arihnda?”

The question was counter to her every expectation, the words rumbling from his chest to her ears. She swallowed, tears now dried up, and fought to find the right answer. She was certain there _was_ a right answer, whatever Thrawn asked.

Despite her determination to plan, to utter the ideal phrase to convince him of her blamelessness, her lips were already speaking.

“That you forgive me.”

“I forgive you.”

There was no hesitation; his response came immediately on the heels of hers, not even a heartbeat between them.

The lump in her throat stayed, but the suffocating weight in her chest lessened. Sniffling, Arihnda searched for more right answers.

She knew him better than anyone. Years at his side had allowed her that honor.

What could Thrawn want from her, now that she’d disgraced herself? She wanted to continue to serve, to stay, to stand with him still, despite doubting her own right to do so. How could anyone hold their head high after such abysmal failure?

His arms relaxed. Thrawn lifted her chin from his chest with a curled index finger. His touch was cool and firm, while his red eyes glowed like stars on their deathbeds.

“Why?” she asked, the absence of his earlier rage giving her hope.

“Why?” he repeated. At first she thought he didn’t understand, but then…

“Why indeed.” 

His arms dropped, although he didn’t move away. She felt their loss acutely, unable to stop a chill from crawling across her flesh.

“I have long trusted you, Arihnda,” Thrawn said, sounding almost tired. “I would prefer to continue to do so.”

He stood. The distance was a symbol of her failure, a rebuke. It took everything she had to hold his gaze.

“Did he seduce you?”

Remembering her earlier idea, to blame Luke, Arihnda inwardly cringed. Much as she wanted to rationalize what had happened by denouncing the prince, it would likely make things worse. Thrawn had been watching them, and her reckless consent had been clear. Beyond the visual evidence, to accuse his slave without accepting her own role would be a lie, and Thrawn had just professed his trust. In any event, who would believe someone like Luke Skywalker would go to the effort of seducing someone like her? It was embarrassing to admit the truth.

“No.”

Nodding, as if it was confirming something already known, Thrawn tilted his head, crossed his arms.

“You initiated it.”

This was not a question, but Arihnda wanted to answer regardless. Inadvertently, thoughtlessly, perhaps, she had. But she had stopped, she had tried to withdraw, hadn’t she? And Luke…Luke had _wanted_ to…for reasons she still wasn’t clear about. He’d been so talented, so good at shutting off her brain, knowing exactly what to do with his fingers and lips. At the time she hadn’t been capable of considering the reasons for his skill—the idle life of a prince with no outside responsibilities, free to indulge in every carnal pleasure and hone his expertise. Perhaps it had been some insidious plan to remove her from duty, petty revenge carried out on behalf of his partner slave. It hadn’t _felt_ like that, but Arihnda was rarely disappointed by looking for the worst in people’s motivations.

Thrawn didn’t like excuses.

“I suppose so,” she managed, the words coming out hoarse.

“To hurt me?”

The question shocked. Her eyes rounded, fingers making balls in the sheets. Was he in love with the prince? Already? Had his affections rooted so deep that Thrawn thought her desire had been not just frivolous but malicious? 

“No,” she protested. “I had no idea that you were so…attached to him. I didn’t even—”

“Not him.” Thrawn’s eyes flashed, arms uncrossing, vanishing behind his back in a position she knew he found comfortable, parade rest.

Arihnda didn’t trust herself to interpret the words that had just come out of Thrawn’s mouth. He couldn’t possibly mean…

“To make me jealous. Fucking him.”

She cleared her throat, almost forgetting that she was still naked.

“I wouldn’t have expected that to work.”

A small smile met her unguarded statement.

“Nor I,” he admitted, “…and yet.”

Thrawn ran a thumb and forefinger from the ends to the center of his brow, then came and sat back down on the edge of the bed. A good distance from her still, but better than standing. Better than looking down in disapproval. 

Arihnda was still trying to process his confession, the implication. It seemed to her that Thrawn was incredibly handsome, despite the sharpness of his features and the strange mixture of confusing signals he was sending. She could usually read him—the curve of an eyebrow, the tension of skin in his temples, the smallest of movements in his lips were enough to transmit myriad and complex communications as surely as if he articulated them. But here, now, Arihnda was unable to translate, helpless to do anything but wait for a verbal cue.

“Tell me what happened,” he said at last.

She bit her lip. Thrawn seemed reasonable, no longer angry. But she wasn’t sure it would help things to explain or attempt justification. Typically the Grand Admiral wanted his subordinates to accept responsibility, learn from their mistakes. Redirect their failings into productive goals.

“I let my emotional state overshadow my judgement,” she replied, a blush coloring her cheeks. She could hardly complain about Jade’s dismissive behavior now.

Thrawn was quiet, his eyes examining her, seeming to read the sins etched on her soul. And when he finally spoke:

“Therefore…to make Mara jealous?”

She flinched at the use of Lady Jade’s first name, at that woman’s introduction into this conversation. He knew—he hadn’t guessed. It was humiliating, to imagine all this time he’d been aware of the disrespect and never come to her defense. To cover, Arihnda spoke without thinking.

“I hardly think she would see me as competition, Grand Admiral.”

The use of his title in these circumstances seemed preposterous, but it was a reflex, and one she was too late to stifle.

“Modesty does not suit you, Arihnda,” he replied, that brief smile reappearing.

Feeling better, unbelieving at the compliment, she managed a small smile in return.

“Nor flattery you, Grand Admiral.”

He laughed. Actually _laughed_, and in it she heard more absolution than when he’d pledged his forgiveness earlier.

“It is not flattery that keeps me here,” Thrawn said, one hand reaching to cup her cheek. She leaned against his palm, heart racing at the contact, the closeness. 

“I’ve always been yours.” The truth dropped from her lips, as inevitable as gravity.

His jaw flexed, a small vein pulsing in his temple. Arihnda knew the expression well—Thrawn was making a decision. It was her fate, her future—her heart that would break or soar at his next words.

“And will continue to be,” he said, leaning in and kissing her swollen lips.

Arihnda melted into the undeserved tenderness, her arms already thrown around him, blood rushing like lava beneath her skin. For all the times she’d imagined this, dreamed of it, she never anticipated the relief of it, the sheer sense of liberation and release that she found in his acceptance of her.

Thrawn’s arms were powerful, almost painful in their return embrace. His lips commanded a surrender granted long ago. He truly wanted her—the realization struck, surreal and undeniable. Arihnda closed her eyes, her hands exploring his chest, dipping beneath the undershirt and tracing lines down his abdomen. She no longer questioned anything—just was grateful for his desire, committed to being whatever he wished her to be.

Thrawn pressed her down onto the bed, his hands sliding up her arms and pinning her wrists. Arihnda bowed into his body, unable to keep the smile from her lips. The reality of him was breathtaking, removing all doubt. She loved him—had always loved him—and was thankful that her sequence of stupid choices today had led them to this point. 

He kissed her again, his full weight pressing her deep into the mattress.

“_Tras,_” he murmured, and Arihnda trembled at the Cheunh. Thrawn had taught her a little, and knew she would recognize his verbal claim to her. The word was as substantial and effective as a chain around her neck. It enslaved just as surely, ensuring his ownership and her understanding of what she’d yielded him.

Freeing her wrists, Thrawn sat back and undressed, throwing his clothes without preamble into a far corner of the room. It was a side of him she’d never seen, this passion, this careless and disorganized manner. And a view she had never seen—rippled waves of muscle stretched tight beneath blue skin, shaded with tones of irregular indigo. His body was more muscular than Luke’s immaculate bronzed form. Thrawn was life-hardened and battle-toughened, a bloom of scars scattering like flower petals from his midriff to upper torso. The thin line left by a Twi’lek assassin’s Tehk’la blade on his bicep seemed less jarring now, more perfect in the company of this violent proof of his resilience. His frame was a canvas of history, a testament to bravery and experience. The beauty of him transfixed her.

He returned to the bed, lean stomach pressing against hers, his chest flattening her breasts.

“Arihnda,” he said. On his lips, her name was impossibly beautiful.

“Mmm?” She felt dazed, elated, and entirely incoherent.

“I was jealous.”

The words spiked in her consciousness, inciting guilt and giddiness. She had made him jealous. He loved her.

“I’m sorry.”

His lips quirked slightly. “Are you?”

The question implied his disbelief, and Arihnda considered her response, despite the fact that her brain felt like mush and her body was aflame. She’d never wanted to be fucked so badly in her life.

“No…but it wasn’t my intention.” She smiled a little broader, more confident in his arms, underneath him.

“I know.” He paused, adjusting his position slightly so his eyes were exactly level with hers. The complex medley of colors was startlingly vivid—murky yellow bleeding into the saturated red.

“I will not forgive you a second time.”

The words were serious. Extremely serious. The smile vanished from her lips.

“And him?” she asked, without thinking, immediately cursing herself for the question. It was as if she couldn’t help but take the worst possible action, say the least appropriate thing to every moment.

“I have not decided,” Thrawn replied, voice betraying no reaction to the ill-timed question. 

Arihnda wasn’t sure if that meant something good or bad, and did not want to jeopardize her current position by dwelling on Luke’s punishment. But Thrawn continued.

“He was correct—we had not discussed the parameters of our arrangement.” 

The words sounded rhetorical—like he was talking to himself, and Arihnda dared to smooth her hands over his shoulders, behind the strong muscle of his neck. She’d always wanted to touch his hair, to feel its texture and softness. She liked how it stood up between her fingers and fell flat as she moved along his scalp.

Her touch seemed to center him, and Thrawn’s gaze grew less distant, focusing again on her. He kissed her then, a rough, possessive pressure. She returned it eagerly, legs hooking around his calves, hands sliding back down his body.

His muscles felt like stone, unyielding and severe. She pushed, testing, liking the sense of power, his authority adapted and reinforced into this position above her.

Arihnda wanted him inside her, erasing the memory of Prince Skywalker of Naboo. She needed that eradication to feel worthy, to repair the damage she’d done.

But he had other ideas, breaking the kiss and sitting back on his heels. Arihnda propped herself up, heart clenching at the thought of him denying her now. Yet he didn’t leave, only waited. Thrawn’s erection jutted straight ahead, its color a darker hue than the rest of him. Save for the shade and a slightly tapered length, he looked human.

Arihnda met his gaze, read his wishes as clearly as a datacomm in Aurebesh. She pushed aside her self-doubt—This was her opportunity to show he didn’t need a vain slut like Mara Jade. _She_ could be everything he needed or wanted, as effective and pleasing in the bedroom as the boardroom. She could satisfy him; she knew him intimately. Here was her chance to prove it.

Gliding forward on her belly, she kissed the junctures of his hips, then moved to his cock. She couldn’t wait to taste him, much as she wished to tease. Arihnda vowed he wouldn’t miss the preliminaries, once she’d shown him her talents. He was already rock hard. Pursing her lips into a tight circle, she began at the thinner tip of him and applied pressure as she slid down his length. She made it halfway before her throat protested. Twisting her tongue along the length of him, she savored his satiny texture. Another essay, and this time she forced back the gag, hands gripping his hips to steady herself. Almost three-quarters; his cock choked her and she welcomed it, breathing through her nose as she began to pump her lips up and down his shaft. 

Thrawn’s hands angled her head, holding her still as his thighs contracted. She waited, looking up from her uncomfortable position. He was watching her, and their eyes locked as he withdrew, then shoved back in her mouth. Arihnda rolled her lips over her teeth, providing smooth passage, her tongue teasing whenever possible as he started to thrust harder. She would not close her eyes, feeling them start to water from the blowjob. He was watching, and she saw approval on his face.

Saliva dripped from her lips, and Thrawn waited for her to wipe her chin before continuing to fuck her face. 

She welcomed it, should have expected it. What had made her think she was worthy to do anything except suck his cock? She had still failed him, and although he’d granted forgiveness, Arihnda could not expect to be favored so soon. This … this ability to serve was enough. She smiled around his cock, lips stretched thin and eyes shining as she held his stare.

Thrawn smiled back, hands no longer gentle on her skull as he drove faster. She liked being used by him, being wanted, tasting him on her tongue. Instinctively she knew that when he came in her mouth, his spend would be delicious. 

Her elbows almost slipped from the strength of his fucking. Arihnda fought for control. She had to please. Balancing, she swiped a finger along the line of his ass, pushing beneath his balls, and was rewarded with the crushing flex of Thrawn’s fingers on her head as he emptied his come into her throat. She kept her eyes on him, watching the tension in his face, the parting of his lips as his heat filled her mouth. She would not miss a drop.

Somehow she didn’t gag or spit up, a swell of pride matching the satisfaction at her own performance. When he withdrew with a hiss, she lapped delicately along his cock, from the base to the tip, cleaning up the salted essence of him, enjoying the knowledge of his flavor and savoring the visual memory of his climax.

She dared not leave the bed for fear of being barred from it permanently, but Thrawn stood, disappearing into the refresher. He returned shortly with a glass of water that he set on the bedside. After a moment, Arihnda realized it was for her. He chuckled softly at her obvious surprise, and then eased her to the center of the mattress, sliding beneath the sheets. She crawled next to him, euphoric and amazed at his indulgence and continued presence.

She lay on her side, pressed tightly into his. Her torso curved against the hardness of his ribs, cushioned with finely layered muscle. One leg rested between Thrawn’s, one arm bent so her palm rested on his breastbone. The steady thrum of his heartbeat soothed her. 

Arihnda was beyond content, an unfamiliar swell in her chest that far surpassed anything resembling her earlier infatuation. She pillowed her head on the juncture of his shoulder and the arm which loosely cradled her. Her eyes travelled his profile, from temple to ear, then fixed to the sharp line of his cheekbones and angle of his jaw. She watched the pulse along his neck, the impossible smoothness of his skin, and relived the taste of him, lips, flesh, cock, come.

Exhaustion and relief finally overpowered her elation at current circumstances, and Arihnda felt sleep start to come. Her practical brain ran through her schedule automatically, comparing it to the Grand Admiral’s. She had no idea what time it was.

His other hand smoothed the hair at her nape.

“Something wrong?”

“We have a meeting with the ISB at 0700,” she answered, feeling ridiculous.

“Should my attachée reschedule it?” he asked lightly.

As much as she didn’t wish to move, Arihnda was driven by responsibility. She prepared to extricate herself from his embrace, fumbling for her clothes and the comm attached. Thrawn stopped her before she could succeed, shaking his head and wrapping her back against his chest.

“Better to keep to routine,” he said, the words practical and still unfortunate. 

Routine. Arihnda fought to follow his rationale. They weren’t even in his bed.

“I should leave,” Arihnda indicated Luke’s cabin with an upward-facing palm. Thrawn raised an eyebrow, and she was thankful the lights had never been dimmed. Beyond just being able to appreciate his looks, successfully reading his subtle body language was something she prided herself on.

This eyebrow meant he didn’t necessarily disagree, but questioned her reasoning. She’d seen the expression a thousand times.

“Before you do,” Thrawn said, and the fact that he didn’t argue made her heart sink a little, “I would ask what led to your ‘emotional state’ this afternoon.”

Arihnda lay back on the mattress, taking a deep breath. The scent of him, mingled with sex and sweat, gave her strength to explain. Somehow smell was more tangible than touch, grounding her, reassuring her that this was real and wouldn’t disappear when she awoke.

She succinctly explained her latent feud with Lady Jade. Ever since she’d first appeared at court she’d targeted Arihnda with veiled implications of her unimportance. Arihnda admitted to envy, to her own false politesse, and to the evolution from resentment to pure enmity. Thrawn didn’t interrupt, didn’t ask questions or ask her to justify her impressions, merely listened.

Finally, when she’d worked herself into knots at the memories, Thrawn stopped her with a kiss to her forehead.

“Enough,” he said. “The situation is quite clear.”

Huffing, Arihnda turned her attention back to Thrawn, wondering if he would fuck her. She no longer wanted to dwell on Mara Jade or what may happen in the future. With a fierce kiss, she straddled him, seeing a curl of amusement on his lips.

“Arihnda…”

“…Thrawn…” she hesitated. It sounded daring to say his name, but ridiculous to think so, considering what had transpired between them.

He nodded as if confirming it was acceptable, then continued.

“Do you know why you are different?” His hands slid from her knees to her thighs, settling on her waist. Arihnda watched their ascent, unable to stop from comparing his long, elegant fingers with Luke’s, which had fascinated her differently. Thrawn’s were infused with control, their movements deliberate. Every inch of her that he touched was annexed to his dominion. She shifted so the line of her was centered along his length, sighing as she felt him respond.

“From them?” she asked, hating the thought of it, but loving that he was making a distinction.

Thrawn nodded and waited. He enjoyed having people figure things out themselves, and clearly was waiting for her to puzzle out an answer to his query.

Arihnda wanted to say “because you love me,” but feared Thrawn would disagree, or just as bad, ask her to clarify or qualify her answer. So she considered other responses, her eyes drifting up his chest, scanning every part of him to remember in case this was her only opportunity.

His body was exquisite, in a way Luke’s wasn’t and could never be. Thrawn’s perfection was in his flaws: asymmetrical strength hard-won through training; once-deadly wounds healed by time, not bacta; thin lines on his face carved by experience; radiant eyes infused with innate genius.

Glowing eyes that were awaiting her reply, trusting her to answer.

She had been by his side for years. That was different. 

She loved him blindly, unquestioningly. No pleasure slave could match the depth of her commitment to him.

But what answer would serve?

Biting the inside of her cheek, Arihnda planned her sentence, glad for his patience.

“Because we have a shared history,” she replied, “and I am bound by nothing except devotion to you.”

His red eyes flashed and she felt his cock twitch between her legs. Gratified at the reaction, Arihnda lifted up and took him inside. 

He fucked her slowly, following her rhythm, matching the pace she set. For Arihnda, it felt like deliverance—more than sexual or spiritual communion alone. The years she’d wished for him, the ways she’d imagined he would look at her, or feel inside her body, or touch her naked flesh—now everything was realized. Reality wasn’t just achieving fantasy, but transcending it.

When her thighs quivered, he took her from behind, fingers tormenting her clit as she pumped herself up and down his cock. She was unsurprised by his stamina and performance—Thrawn was well-educated in most areas, and Arihnda had always imagined he was a student of bedroom arts as well as the classics.

When she came with a cry, Thrawn withdrew and repositioned himself at her asshole, fulfilling his earlier promise. Arihnda moaned and sighed, her entire body throbbing and ready to take him. 

Her muscles relaxed, welcoming his length. Arihnda had never felt so purely sexual, willing to serve as his whore if he wanted. This was sublime; orgasms were not even necessary. His desire was recompense enough. Thrawn pulled her hips higher, his penetration total. Arihnda clenched around him, her muscles daring him to last as her body flexed and urged him on.

She sighed when his cock swelled and ebbed, his climax flooding her ass with his come. When he started to pull out, she pushed back, leaning to keep him inside. Prolonging her connection to him seemed important, and while she had no reason to think he would discard her now, after claiming her so completely, she also had no assurances he would not.

Thrawn acquiesced, delaying, waiting. His hands rested lightly on her hips until she crawled forward with a groan of satisfaction.

They should sleep. Arihnda knew it, and knew equally that sleeping in Luke’s cabin, when they had an early morning, was inadvisable.

“You knew…” she whispered.

“I knew,” he confirmed.

Thrawn lay next to her, on his back while she rested on her stomach. She raised her head to meet his eyes. His face was unreadable, but he began tracing lines on hers, following the arch of her eyebrows with one blue finger, under her lashes, down the swoop of her nose, circling her lips. Arihnda watched, full of wonder at the tenderness in his touch. He had always been kind to her, but she could not have imagined this capacity for affection.

Thrawn finished his tactile meanderings with a path from her hairline down over her chin to the notch between her collarbones.

“Will you join us?” he asked softly.

Arihnda blinked, her heart beating faster, more alert at the question—the invitation. She knew what he meant, but Mara…could she stand it? Stand to see him sheathe his cock in someone she detested?

Thrawn, as he often did, seemed to follow her train of thought.

“You must bring balance, not discord.”

“Balance?” she repeated, wondering if he was referring principally to gender.

“You know me as they do not,” Thrawn said. “But they know me as you do not…yet.”

The words stung, but she swallowed, finding solace in the “yet” he had tacked on to the end of the sentence. He was inviting her into his bedchamber again, it was clear, but contingent upon her behavior, her tolerance of the conditions he’d set, the bedpartners he’d chosen.

“Will she—”

Thrawn waited for her to finish, and Arihnda couldn’t, wouldn’t. It was a stupid question. If Thrawn brought her into his bed, Mara would have no choice but to accept it. As a slave, Mara would have to respect her Master’s decision, and, by extension, her Master’s consort.

“Yes. I will join you,” she said. It wasn’t really an option. She could have him the way he would allow it, or she could not have him at all. Arihnda understood the tacit ultimatum the same way she understood the threat inherent. If she disappointed him, did not provide the balance he demanded, she would no longer be welcome.

“All of you,” she added, hoping it would make him understand her pledge.

Thrawn nodded, lying back against the mattress. The pillow was nowhere in sight.

“Serve with the same loyalty you always have, Arihnda. I ask no more.”

“And serve them as well?” She asked before she could stop herself, but better to know the hierarchy now, before she was surprised by unexpected subordinate status.

“Should I direct it.” His chin tilted down, meeting her eyes. “Luke and Mara also serve.”

Arihnda hoped she hid the dismay at his words.

“I’m happy to hear it, sir.”

She expected him to correct her address, offer his name since she’d used it before, but Thrawn did not.

“Thrawn—” She tested.

“Sleep, Arihnda.”

She didn’t dare argue, and although she doubted the adrenaline lacing her blood could be cooled enough to sleep, eventually, she did.

**Author's Note:**

> _Tras_ is my Cheunh word for the first person singular possessive, or "Mine", invented for my story [Interpreter.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969984)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Equilibrium](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22267723) by [JediMordsith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediMordsith/pseuds/JediMordsith)


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